


Here for you

by dea_liberty



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dea_liberty/pseuds/dea_liberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sprains his wrist during rehearsals. Louis becomes a little bit protective - just a little. Or maybe a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chelseafrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseafrew/gifts).



> For chelseafrew, who wanted some hurt/comfort with Harry doing the hurting and Louis doing the comforting. I hope this fits the bill somewhat. Happy holidays, honey!
> 
> A huge thank you to Vae (itinerant_vae) for the super speedy beta and making this better than it was before, and to Michelle (micmezle) for the love and encouragement.

Louis almost has a heart attack when Harry trips over his own feet and goes flying off the stage during rehearsal. He immediately abandons any thought of rehearsal – or of calm, really – to launch himself off the edge of the stage after him. He lands on his feet and makes it to Harry’s side before anyone else despite the fact that he’d been on the other side of the stage, immediately reaching out to steady Harry, to check to make sure he is – fuck, god, did he hit his head on anything? Is he okay?

“Harry?” Louis manages to get out even though he feels like he can’t breathe, like he can’t think, feels absolutely consumed by panic as he waits for a response. “Haz?”

“I’m okay,” Harry says, and Louis can finally breathe again. He sucks in air and lets it out in a huff as Harry sits up slowly, cradling his wrist against his chest, lips pressed into a thin pained line. Louis’s panic spikes again, worry twisting in his stomach. “But…but I don’t think – my wrist really, really hurts.”

Louis places his hand lightly on top of Harry’s where it’s cradling his other wrist and looks up, eyes finding Paul’s as he curls himself protectively around Harry. He doesn’t think it really helps, but Harry tucks his face in against Louis’s neck and lets out a sigh. Louis slides his other hand into Harry’s hair to soothe him as much as he can.

Paul nods, already on the phone, and it doesn’t take long for an ambulance to arrive. Louis isn’t allowed to go with him - and he knows that, understands that, but still resents Paul a little when he’s pushed back towards the stage as Harry is taken away. Paul calls him from the hospital to tell him that Harry’s wrist is sprained but Harry otherwise undamaged by his rather spectacular fall. Louis isn’t _happy_ about it (neither is Harry), but at least it’s not broken and, all in all, it could have been much, much worse.

Ben managed to catch it on camera, but Louis can’t bring himself to watch it again. He still remembers the horrible, horrified swooping sensation well enough that he doesn’t need reminding of it. While the others watch it, he helps Harry carefully decorate the wrap on his wrist – his right one – for the concert and set Harry up with the microphone headset since he definitely isn’t going to be holding onto a microphone tonight. 

Harry’s still bouncing a little by the time they get home – high on painkillers and on the show – and Louis listens to him rambling fondly as he undresses him and gets him ready for bed, tucking in close and careful against Harry’s side. Harry sleeps on the right side of the bed anyway so Louis doesn’t worry too much about rolling onto Harry’s wrist in the middle of the night.

It’s a relief because Louis is worrying about pretty much everything else.

***

They have cereal for breakfast the next morning because Louis burns the bacon he was trying to make for a sandwich, and the toast had gone cold by the time he managed to rescue the frying pan. He feels a little guilty, especially as he watches Harry struggle a bit with the spoon in his left hand, but it’s not that bad – Harry’s not absolutely useless with his left hand – and the guilt dissipates a bit more when Harry glances up at him with a bashful little smile, laughing when he spills milk all down his front.

They spend the day in the studio. By the time they’re finished, Harry’s gone pale with pain. He’s trying to smile through it, trying to make it seem like nothing, but Louis knows better, and he convinces Paul to sneak the two of them out the back while Niall, Liam and Zayn agree to meet the fans out the front. Harry drops the façade as soon as they’re at home alone, curling up against Louis, pressing in against his side and breathing.

He lets Louis take care of him and put him to bed again without a fuss, and from that alone, Louis can guess how much his wrist is really hurting. Louis isn’t really tired yet but Harry sleeps better if he’s there so he wraps around Harry anyway and murmurs to him until he falls asleep.

***

Four days after the accident, Louis wakes up to the sound of crashing and Harry swearing up a storm. He rolls out of bed and rushes through to the kitchen to find Harry clutching at his wrist and the kettle on its side, hot water everywhere.

“Did any of it hit you, love?” Louis asks, going to to his side and tugging him away from the mess, checking him over. “Did you burn yourself?”

Harry shakes his head and huffs out a frustrated sound. “No, no. I just – the kettle and – “

“Doesn’t matter, babe,” Louis says, kissing Harry’s temple as he moves away from him to clean up before either of them can slip on the wet floor. He puts the kettle back on to make tea for them both. “As long as you’re okay, it doesn’t matter.”

He can see Harry still frowning, still looking a little frustrated, but he pulls him in for a soft kiss and nudges him towards their kitchen table. “Sit,” he says insistently. “I’ll bring you your tea. And rest that wrist. Did you ice it today yet?”

“No,” Harry says, and Louis can definitely hear a bit of a pout in Harry’s voice.

He walks over to his side and kisses him gently, stroking a hand lightly through Harry’s hair again. “Let it heal,” he says gently, reaching out to touch the injured wrist lightly, stroking his fingers over Harry’s skin. “Or it’s going to take even longer.”

“You’re one to talk,” Harry mumbles, catching Louis’s fingers with his other hand.

“Exactly,” Louis says with a laugh, leaning down to kiss his head. “I should know. I do the opposite often enough.”

That gets Harry to crack a smile, and Louis feels him relaxing a fraction. Which is better than nothing at all. He dips down to kiss Harry again before he walks back over to the kettle. “So. Tea, and then ice, and then we’re going to go flop on the couch and watch telly, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and Louis is thankful that, when he looks back at him, Harry’s smiling fondly at him again.

***

In retrospect, Louis probably shouldn’t have ignored that – but to be completely honest, Louis has absolutely no idea how to help. Every day, Harry gets a little more frustrated, and no matter what Louis does, he doesn’t seem to actually be helping. At all. In fact, seven days later, Harry is getting annoyed at _Louis_ when he’s just trying to make things easier for him.

“For fuck’s sake, Lou, my wrist is sprained, not fucking missing, okay?” Harry snaps when Louis tries to help him pick up his bag.

Louis frowns and stands up straight, crossing his arms and looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry, I know that. I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re treating me like I’m made of glass,” Harry says, stubbornly picking up the bag despite the fact that Louis sees the pain flicker over Harry’s expression. Harry doesn’t have a poker face – not when it’s Louis he’s trying to lie to – but he’s clearly trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt.

“Your wrist still hurts,” Louis points out, gesturing at the bag. “That hurts. So stop being an idiot and let me take that for you, yeah?”

“No,” Harry says, tightening his fingers on the bag stubbornly – and god, Louis had forgotten just how bloody stubborn Harry could be. “I’m not invalid. It’s just a stupid sprain. You’re treating me like I’m useless so fucking _stop_ , okay? Stop being so fucking…” He gestures vaguely with his other hand.

“So fucking what?” Louis asks, voice low. There’s a strange twisting in his gut, a feeling of dread, because he thinks he knows what Harry’s trying to say. He thinks he knows what Harry means. And he’s pretty sure he’s not going to like it.

“Stop being so – so _you_.”

Louis feels like he’s been punched in the gut, breath forced out of him in a rush. “So me?” Louis asks faintly.

“So – so overprotective and coddling me and just – acting like a mother hen. You’re being so over dramatic.”

“So me?” Louis asks again. Over protective. Over dramatic. Just over everything.

“Yes,” Harry says again. “Fucking cut it out, okay?”

“Fine,” Louis says, trying to keep his voice light, trying to keep his voice even. Trying to keep it from shaking and giving him away. “ _Fine_ ,” he repeats when Harry raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief.

And then Louis forces himself to walk away. 

***

Louis makes himself just turn over and curl deeper into the covers the next morning when he hears another crash from the kitchen. He makes himself stay where he is and close his eyes, has to actually physically clutch at the pillow to stop himself going to Harry’s side when Harry starts to swear.

Harry will call him if he needs him, Louis thinks. Harry will call for him. He keeps repeating it over and over even when things go quiet outside. The fact that Harry hasn’t called just means that Harry didn’t need him.

That Harry doesn’t need him.

There’s another resounding crash outside and Louis waits. But Harry doesn’t call him. So…so that’s that.

***

They manage to keep it up for two days.

Whenever Louis catches Harry struggling with something, he makes himself turn away. And whenever Harry catches Louis watching him, he gives Louis a defiant little look, mouth flattening out into an unhappy line as he grits his teeth and does whatever it was he was struggling with.

Louis makes himself walk away every time.

After the first day, the others start to pick up on the tension.

“Hey, hey,” Niall says when they’re all sprawled together in Louis and Harry’s living room. Liam and Zayn are playing on the Playstation, only half paying attention, and Harry is sulking a little because he can’t play. He’s sprawled at Niall’s feet, Niall’s fingers stroking through his curls, instead of curled up with Louis where Louis can reach him like he usually is, and Louis is… he’s trying not to care.

Except that his fingers are almost itching for Harry’s skin.

“Do you think,” Niall continues, “you two would stop being so stupid if you just fucked it out?”

Louis glares at Niall a little harder. Because apparently, he’d been glaring at Niall anyway just for the fact that Harry’s there with him and not next to Louis.

“I’m serious!” Niall says, tugging on Harry’s hair – and Louis…Louis doesn’t drop his eyes to Harry’s face. Doesn’t want to know if Harry reacts the same way to Niall pulling on his hair as he does to Louis. “Harry’s clearly sexually frustrated, and you, Tommo, have not been…ah. Lending a hand.” Niall tugs Harry’s head back and looks down at him. “Right, Hazza?”

“No,” Harry says stubbornly, and Louis turns his attention to Liam and Zayn’s game.

“Nialler’s not wrong,” Liam says, throwing the controller to the side as Zayn claims his victory. “You’ve both been grumpy as all hell. I’ll bet you’re both frustrated as fuck.”

Louis snorts and shrugs, glances over at Harry with a challenging look. “My hand works just fine.”

Harry glares just for a moment before he turns away, acts unaffected, and tilts his head back into Niall’s touch with a needy little sound. “Keep petting,” he demands, ignoring Louis completely. “Please.”

Niall glances at Louis uncertainly before he complies.

Louis grits his teeth, hops up to his feet and heads for the kitchen. Because he’s – he’s not going to fall for that. He’s not going to – he’s not going to care. Harry’s the one who told him to stop and…and he’s not going to be the one who breaks first. After all, he’s the one who’s being too _overprotective_ , and Harry can take care of himself just fine. “I’m gonna go make a cuppa. Anyone want one?”

***

It’s difficult to say which one of them caves first.

It’s almost lunchtime when he hears what sounds like their entire shelf full of pots and pans crashing to the floor rather than just the kettle or a mug or something. Louis rushes into the kitchen to find Harry sitting on the floor, curled in the corner. Louis’s guess was spot on; their entire shelf full of pots and pans has crashed to the floor around him, and Harry’s looking up at Louis with wide, panicked eyes.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, immediately dropping to his side and pushing the pans away to get to him, checking him over quickly and efficiently. “Did anything hit you? Are you all right?”

“One of the pans caught my wrist,” Harry says, biting at his lower lip and cradling his injured hand close to his chest as Louis tugs him carefully away from the corner. “But other than that…they all missed me.”

“Okay,” Louis says, helping Harry up to his feet carefully and guiding him into the living room, sitting him down on the sofa and pushing his curls away from his face to get a good look at him, to make sure Harry’s telling him the truth and nothing hit his head or anything. “M’gonna go get an ice pack for that. Just stay put, love, okay?”

Harry nods and, after a moment, Louis makes himself go back to the kitchen, coming back to settle beside Harry to ice his wrist carefully, gentle as he checks to make sure Harry hasn’t done any more serious damage to it. Louis’s never been more thankful they decided to keep ice packs in their fridge in case of emergencies; he’s grateful every time Harry hurts himself.

“Is it…is it okay?” Harry asks carefully after a moment, and Louis glances up to offer him a soft, reassuring smile.

“Yeah,” Louis answers, stroking his thumb over Harry’s wrist softly. “You’re okay, love. Think you’ve just bruised it a bit.” He brings Harry’s hand up to his lips and kisses it lightly. “You’re okay.”

Harry lets out a breath and nods and, before Louis can move away – or even think of moving away – Harry curls around him and clings, burying his face into the crook of Louis’s neck. “M’sorry, Lou,” he says, voice a little shaky. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean it. I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says after a moment, and he tightens his arms around Harry and settles more comfortably with him, stroking a hand through his hair. “And I love you, stubbornness and all.”

Harry huffs out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sound of annoyance. It makes Louis smile. “I’m sorry too,” he says after a moment, and turns to kiss Harry’s temple. “For letting what you said get to me. I know you don’t mean it. You were just being an idiot, as always.”

Harry nips at his neck sharply. “Hey!” he whines playfully.

“It’s true,” Louis says, fond probably showing clearly. But it’s just them in the house and it doesn’t matter if Louis’s fondness can be seen from outer space, really. “I’ve never let it get to me before.”

“I’m just…frustrated,” Harry admits. “I hate that I can’t – that I go to do something and then I _can’t_.” There’s definitely an edge of a real whine there and… and actually, Louis starts to think that maybe Niall had a point.

“You go to do…something?” Louis asks, lets his voice go soft and suggestive, and Harry starts, pulling back to look at Louis – meets his eyes properly for the first time in days. 

“Louis!” Harry says, but Louis can see him thinking about it. Can see his cheeks slowly colouring. And yes, there’s definitely more than a little bit of truth in Louis’s suggestion.

“Am I wrong?” Louis asks, stroking his fingers over Harry’s arm and down his stomach, palms him gently through his boxers.

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry bites his lower lip and shakes his head.

“C’mon,” Louis says with a soft, pleased laugh, shifting to hop up and tug Harry up with him by his left hand carefully. “That I can definitely help you with.”

“You can help me with the rest of it too,” Harry says, dropping his eyes a little guiltily as he follows Louis back to the bedroom. Louis turns to kiss him softly before he keeps going, feeling lighter than he has in days. “I’m done being an idiot.”

“You’ll never be done being an idiot,” Louis says with a laugh, pushing Harry onto the bed and climbing after him, sliding over to straddling him easily. “And that’s why I love you.”

“Just like you’ll never be anything but yourself because that’s why I love you?” Harry asks hopefully, pulling Louis down insistently to kiss him again, lips already parted, and god, Louis loves him so much..

“Exactly that,” Louis says, and gives in, seals their lips together and licks into Harry’s mouth slowly. “You’ll never be anything but my baby.”

Harry beams at him, links his hands behind Louis’s head and draws him in for another kiss. “Good. Because I love it. Even if sometimes I’m an idiot about it.”

“You’re just frustrated,” Louis says, and he can’t stop smiling. Because god, Harry’s smiling at him again. They’re talking and…and everything’s okay. And Harry needs him. Everything is more than okay. Everything is absolutely great. “But that’s nothing we can’t handle, right?” He lets the grin go dirty, suggestive, and slides slowly down Harry’s body. “If you just ask, I can definitely help you with that.”

“Ask?” Harry says, blinking down at him as Louis slides Harry’s boxers off his hips and looks up at him.

“Ask,” Louis confirmed. “Ask me for it.”

Harry bites his lip and, for a moment, Louis thinks he won’t – thinks he’s going to have to push a bit more – but then Harry nods, eyes dark, and says, voice low and wanting, “Louis, please. Help me.”

“Help you how?” Louis pushes, knows his breath must be blowing over the tip of Harry’s cock by now – knows he’s teasing – and, to really tease, flicks his tongue out to catch Harry’s precome.

Harry moans, desperate, and swallows hard, manages to finally get out, “Please, suck my cock. _Please_ , Louis.”

So Louis does.

He parts his lips and slides his mouth down around Harry’s cock, tongue flat against the bottom of Harry’s dick. He wraps his hand around the base as he works his mouth down further, takes more of Harry in as Harry moans, loud and encouraging and wonderfully aroused. Louis pulls back – pulls off Harry with a pop and a satisfied sound before he slides back down again, starts up a slow rhythm that has Harry’s hand – the left one – twisting in the sheets as he fights the urge to arch up, to push into Louis’s mouth – which is the opposite of what Louis wants. Louis _wants_ him to move, wants him to fuck up into Louis’s mouth, wants Harry to do absolutely anything he wants.

He doubles his efforts, takes more of Harry’s cock in, jaw beginning to ache, eyes beginning to water as Harry finally, finally moves, arches, fucks up into Louis’s mouth, and Louis lets out a satisfied rumble of a moan – probably more felt than heard – around Harry’s cock. He strokes the base of Harry’s cock in time with his movements, slides his fingers back to rub up behind Harry’s balls – shifts to roll his balls lightly in his hand as Harry moans louder, sounds getting shorter, sharper and more desperate as each moment passes.

“C’mon,” Louis says as he pulls off, voice roughened by Harry’s dick. “Come, Harry. Want to taste you.” And yeah, he’s cheating a little because he knows exactly how much that affects Harry. As predicted, Harry moans low, slides his hand into Louis’s hair - lets go of the sheets to do so - and pulls him back down onto his cock.

Louis goes more than willingly, happily, moans muffled by Harry’s cock in his mouth, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking great – all Louis needs for it to be better is for Harry to _come_. Louis sucks _hard_ , swallows around Harry’s cock and – just like that – Harry comes, shooting down Louis’s throat with a startled cry.

Louis pulls off and licks his lips, watching Harry as his eyes open. Louis grins down at him happily. “See? I told you I could help.”

Harry laughs. “S’better than lending a hand,” he says with a lopsided smile, before it falls a bit. “But…I can’t exactly – for you. I guess you could - um, you could fuck my face or - ”

Louis grins. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with my wrist, yeah?” he says and pushes his boxers off his hips to curl his hand around his own cock, starts stroking slowly, twists his hand as he watches Harry’s eyes track his movement, dropping to watch Louis jerking himself off.

“Come on me,” Harry breathes, eyes dark as he licks his own lips, mouth parting almost in anticipation. “Please, Lou, come on me.”

“Yeah,” Louis says with a soft, breathless laugh – and fuck, he’s not going to last. It’s going to be embarrassingly short, especially when it’s his own hand – not even Harry’s – but fuck, it’s been days since he’s had Harry watching him like this, and he…Harry looks aroused and blissed out and relaxed and so fucking good, Louis just –

“You look so fucking gorgeous. Want to taste you too, Louis, please,” Harry breathes, moves his left hand up to slide his thumb over the head of Louis’s cock – and Louis just loses it, comes hard, streaking over Harry’s face and chest.

Louis settles a bit heavily on Harry, hands either side of him as he just tries to remember how to breathe, eyes slowly. When they do open, finally focusing on Harry’s face, Harry’s watching him so intently that Louis’s breath catches all over again.

And then, very slowly, Harry brings his hand to his lips, and it takes Louis a moment to realise Harry’s fingers are covered in his come. Covered in his come, and now in Harry’s mouth, Harry’s cheeks hollowing as he sucks on those digits and – and Louis feels his dick give an interested twitch. He whines low and breathless.

“Am I helping?” Harry asks cheekily, licking his lips as he drops his hand again, and Louis has to laugh.

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis says with a grin and an incredulous shake of his head. “Yeah, darling, you’re helping.”

“Good,” Harry says, pleased – and grinds up against Louis. And fuck – oh fuck – Harry’s already half hard, rubbing slowly against the crack of Louis’s arse. Louis knows it’s not going to take much more for Harry to get all the way. “Wouldn’t want you to think I was…useless or anything.”

Louis’s breath catches on another helplessly fond laugh. “Definitely not,” Louis says – and then pauses, pretending to look thoughtful. “Though, you know, I could use some convincing,” he says slowly after a moment, watches the gleam in Harry’s eyes as he catches onto Louis’s line of thought. Watches Harry smirk at him, brilliant and wonderful and so amazingly _dirty_.

“Oh,” he says as he reaches up to curl his left hand in Louis’s hair, uses it to pull Louis into a kiss that’s just as dirty as the smirk. Brilliant and wonderful and _amazingly_ dirty. “I think I can do that.”

Louis smirks back against Harry’s mouth and says, challenging, “Prove it.”

So Harry does. 

And he’s very, very convincing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [dea](http://dea.tumblr.com/). Please drop by if you'd like to say hi!


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